


Bane's Niffler Christmas

by Baniac



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:05:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baniac/pseuds/Baniac
Summary: One Christmas morning in the pit prison, young Bane believes Santa Claus has brought him a pet. Together, Bane and his Niffler go on a quest to find a ring that has been stolen from Bane's mother.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays to my readers! This is my third annual Christmas story. Check out my others while enjoying your holidays. Thanks for reading, as always. I hope this story brightens your day.

Bane relished the warmth from his mother’s body where she lay curled around him on their charpoy. The crude bed of teak wood and jute rope webbing barely allowed room for the two of them. Eventually his growing body would force them to sleep apart; he would use a mat on the floor, though he knew his mother would argue against it. The weak glow from their nearby brazier provided a touch of heat that kept the worst of the winter’s cold at bay. Their thin blankets managed to retain most of their body heat, keeping them from shivering in the night. Though temperatures were probably in the mid-50’s Fahrenheit beyond the pit prison, here some five hundred feet below the earth’s surface none of that relative comfort reached the two hundred prisoners, not even Bane and his mother whose cell was just off the massive stone shaft that was central to the prison and the only means of access to the outside world.

            Hugging his ragged stuffed bear named Osito, Bane lay on his side. He had tried to convince his mother to take the side closest to the fire, but she had refused as always. Through drooping eyelids, he stared through the brazier’s grate at the charcoal. A recent supply drop had brought more charcoal just in time, along with other necessities, including medicine. Also arriving with the provisions from their jailers was a new prisoner, named Abrams, who had somehow managed to acquire accommodations in one of the prison’s coveted shaft cells, next to Bane’s. The cell on their other side was occupied by a Pakistani called the Vulture, who had been a prisoner for the past year. While the Vulture was obnoxiously talkative during the day, Abrams appeared to be a man of few words.

            Pressing even tighter against his mother, Bane listened to her breathing. She was still awake. He frowned. She had been upset all day, both with herself and with the Vulture. When she had been washing her face in their basin that morning, she had removed her treasured ring, the one Bane’s father had given her as a birthday present, then she had accidentally knocked it from their little table. The piece of jewelry had bounced off the stone floor and into the Vulture’s cell. There the Pakistani had no compunction about keeping the item for his own, no matter how much Bane’s mother begged for its return.

            “Please, give it back,” she pleaded. “It’s all I have left of Edmund.”

            “There’s only one thing you can do to get it back,” the Vulture had grinned licentiously.

            For a moment, Bane thought his mother seriously considered giving in to the Vulture’s perverted extortion, but Bane convinced her otherwise. When the Vulture left his cell to trade the ring with fellow prisoners who could offer food and charcoal, among other things, in exchange, Bane charged out of their cell to try to reclaim the ring. Although he was big for his age, he was still no match for a full-grown man. With his mother’s frightened outcries ringing from behind their locked cell door, Bane took a beating, though he did manage to land a blow to the Vulture’s groin. A hard kick to the chest sent Bane crashing against a stone pillar, gasping for breath as the Vulture strode triumphantly away. Only his mother’s tearful pleas kept him from pursuing the Vulture into the black bowels of the prison.

            Now, lying on their charpoy, Bane searched for something to say that might cheer her up. “Mama?” he whispered, loud enough for her to hear over the snores of their neighbors.

            “Yes, sweetheart?”

            “Do you think it’s Christmas Eve?”

            “Hmm,” she said sleepily. “It might be. The days are at their shortest, so it must be around the solstice.”

            Of course neither of them had any idea what day it was, not down here in a timeless nightmare where survival was the only thing that mattered. Bane knew no other way to live, having been born here ten years ago, shortly after his mother had been condemned to the pit for reasons she had never fully shared with him, reasons he had vowed to one day discover.

            “Do you think Santa Claus will come this year?”

            She made a sad noise, and her hand rubbed his arm in consolation. “He doesn’t know we’re here, sweetheart. He thinks only criminals live here, so he has no reason to come.”

            Bane frowned and fell silent, still searching for something pleasant to talk about. At last he asked, “What was your favorite present when you were a little girl, Mama?”

            She pondered his question for a moment before replying, “One year, when I was about your age, I got a puppy.”

            Bane had never seen a puppy before, only knew that they were baby dogs. “What did it look like?”

            “He had dark brown fur, a long snout, and a short tail. He was chubby and sweet.”

            “What was his name?”

            “I called him Bear. We had so much fun together. I took him everywhere with me. He was my best friend.”

            “What happened to him?”

            “He lived a long time, but eventually he died of old age.”

            Bane frowned. “I wish Santa would bring us a puppy.”

            “Oh, sweetie, this is not a place for a dog. We barely have enough food for ourselves.”

            They fell silent for a time.

            “I wish I could give you a Christmas present, Mama.”

            She squeezed him and kissed the back of his head. “I don’t need a present. I have you.”

            He squirmed a little with both delight and self-consciousness, thinking of her puppy, picturing it. Softly he said, “Mama?”

            “Yes, dear?”

            “I’m going to get your ring back.”

            Her response was terse with fear, “Son, leave it be. The Vulture’s already traded it. It’s gone.”

            “No, it’s still in the prison. They can’t trade it to the outside world until the next resupply, and that won’t be for a while. I’ll find it before then, and I’ll get it back.”

            “It’s too dangerous. I forbid you from trying.”

            “But it’s Father’s present. What will he say when he rescues us and finds it gone?”

            “He will understand. And he will buy me a new ring. Now promise me you won’t look for it. I don’t want someone to hurt you.”

            Bane thought of the small knife cleverly hidden beneath an open seam in his stuffed bear. Only he and his mother knew it was there. So if he needed to use it on the thief, the weapon would take his enemy by surprise.

            “Son, promise me.”

            Even as he promised her, he held Osito closer and felt the cold steel beneath the toy’s fabric.

***

            Something unusual awoke Bane. He lay still, listening as he shivered; the brazier had long since gone cold. A faint thinning of the darkness foretold morning creeping down the cavernous shaft. There were a few distant sounds already in the prison—early risers, insomniacs, lunatics who could barely recognize day from night anymore. But none of those sounds were responsible for awakening him; he was so accustomed to those noises that he barely heard them anymore. No, this was something foreign to his ears.

            Then he heard it, close, beneath him. But how could that be? There was only about a foot of space between the charpoy and the floor. Surely he was imagining. Perhaps he was still asleep, dreaming. He concentrated, remained motionless, tried not to be alarmed by the unknown. A tiny whimper and the brief sound of something brushing against the stone floor. A rat? No, he had never heard a rat make a noise like that. It was something else…

            He gasped. A puppy! Santa Claus _had_ come!

            With heart racing, Bane ever so slowly leaned over the edge of the charpoy, afraid he might startle the puppy if he moved too fast and made the charpoy creak like it often did. He peered into the shadows beneath his bed and detected a dark shape about the size of a large loaf of bread. It whimpered again, and its nails scratched restlessly against the floor. Then he heard it sniffing the air, as if it had just detected him.

            Stealthily, Bane rolled out of bed without disturbing his mother, coming to rest on all fours, still looking beneath the charpoy. The claws scrabbled, and the animal made a different noise, alarmed but not hostile.

            “It’s all right,” Bane whispered in as soothing a voice as he could conjure. “I won’t hurt you.”

            Then a smell came to him, one that was familiar from his daily medical rounds with Dr. Assad—blood. His puppy was injured!

            Bane reached out a hand. “Come here, little one. Are you hurt? Let me help you.”

            The sniffing came stronger, but the animal refused to approach him.

            With a sudden idea, Bane retrieved a bit of crust from what remained of their stale loaf of bread.

            Back on all fours by the charpoy, he offered the morsel. “Are you hungry?”

            Renewed sniffing, this time sharp and with interest. A new sound, low and rolling, like a purr.

            “Come on, then.” When the animal dragged itself a step toward the food, Bane pulled back a little to encourage it to come out. The puppy made a discouraged noise and halted. Bane waved the offering and softly said, “Come on out. Then you can have the bread. I want to see you.”

            Several more minutes of cajoling and tempting. Bane wanted to awaken his mother to elicit her help, but he was afraid her movement and appearance next to him might intimidate the animal and make it too afraid to crawl out. So he sat down and set the food on the floor just in front of him and waited. He was good at waiting. Life of eternal boredom here in the prison had taught him patience. He used it when he was trapping rats for their meals when supplies ran low, which was often. And he used it to observe other prisoners in order to learn their strengths and weaknesses, to deduce their threat level.

            He wondered why his puppy was bleeding. Who had hurt him? Why had Santa not protected him? Or had Santa brought the animal to him because he knew Bane could heal him? He wished the little thing would emerge so he could assess the injury and take it to Dr. Assad.

            At last he heard movement. Claws against stone, the prevalent sniffing. Dogs had excellent noses, his mother had told him. As the animal dragged itself closer, it made tiny sounds of distress. It saddened Bane that the puppy was in pain.

            “That’s it,” he whispered. “Come on out. I’ll take care of you.”

            “Son.” His mother’s sleepy voice. “Who are you talking to?”

            “Shh. Don’t move, Mama. You might scare him.”

            “Scare who?”

            “My puppy.”

            “Your—?”

            “Just wait,” he whispered. “Please.”

            The snout appeared first. It was not what Bane had expected. It looked more like a duck’s bill, like those he had seen in one of Dr. Assad’s books, except the nostrils were at the end, not near the eyes. Perhaps some breeds of dogs looked this way.

            “Come out, little one. See, you can have this bread. Just come a bit farther.”

            “Son.” Concern now edged his mother’s voice. “It can’t be a puppy.”

            “Yes, it is. I can see him.”

            His mother suddenly threw back the blankets and pulled him away with her, across the cell.

            “Mama, no!”

            A flash of the bill and the bread was gone, taken back beneath the charpoy.

            “You scared him!”

            “It’s not a puppy. It’s a rat.”

            “No, it’s not. It’s too big for a rat, and its tail is too short. Let me go, Mama. He’s hurt. I need to help him. He’s bleeding.”

            But his mother held tight against his struggles.

            “It could be sick. It’ll bite you, son.”

            “No, he’s just hungry and hurt. You’ll see. It’s a puppy. A tail and a long snout, like you told me. A rat would run away.”

            Unconvinced, his mother still clung to him, but she cautiously bent down to peer under the charpoy. “It’s too dark under there, but whatever it is, it’s big, big enough to hurt us.”

            “I can lure him out with food. He took a bit of bread.”

            She gasped. “You’re giving away our food to a rodent?”

            “Just a nibble, just to get him to come out. You don’t want him staying under our bed, do you?”

            His mother reached for the ancient iron poker that they used for their brazier, but Bane grasped her wrist.

            “No! Don’t. He’s already injured. He can’t hurt us.”

            “You don’t know that. Besides, he could make us several meals if we kill him.”

            “But he’s a gift from Santa. We can’t kill him.”

            “Son, he is _not_ from Santa. Now let go of me.”

            Bane wrestled the poker from her and tossed it through the bars of their door.

            “Get that back in here at once!” she cried. “Before someone comes along and steals it.”

            “I will, but first let me get him out from under the bed.” Bane went to their small canvas bag of provisions at the back of their cell.

            “No. No more food.”

            “It’s the only way, Mama. I won’t use much.”

            “You are as stubborn as your father.”

            He gave her a smile, one that often won her over whenever she was angry with him.

            “I won’t get hurt,” Bane promised. “Now stay back here. If he tries something, I’ll throw one of the blankets over him.”

            His mother frowned at him, but he knew she agreed that they had to get the little creature out from under their bed. So he knelt beside the charpoy again with another bite of bread and waited. The sniffing had started again, accompanied by another small whimper of pain.

            “That…doesn’t sound like a rat,” his mother muttered.

            “It’s not. I told you—it’s a puppy.”

            Though he sensed his mother’s disbelief, at least now she kept it to herself.

            Claws scrabbled again against the floor, accompanied by the sound of fur brushing against stone. A moment later the snout poked out of the shadows, snuffling.

            “That’s it,” Bane soothed. “Come get it.”

            His mother gasped at the sight of the animal. “What is it?”

            Bane did not respond, instead keeping all his focus on the snout. Then the eyes appeared—small, round and dark. They flicked between the bread and Bane. _Sniff, sniff, sniff_.

            “We won’t hurt you,” Bane said. “I promise.” He edged the bread a little closer to himself, forcing the animal to emerge farther. The fur was a deep indigo color, almost black. Tiny, flat, triangular quills gave its head a slight shimmering quality. Its hairless paws bore long, unretractable claws, like a burrowing animal.

            “It looks almost like a platypus,” his mother said in wonder, some of her fear drifting away.

            The animal dragged itself forward, lying half on one side. Soon Bane understood why—two bloody gashes glistened with dried blood, one on its left shoulder, the other on its left haunch.

            “Someone’s cut you,” Bane crooned. “Were you trying to steal their food?”

            The little creature looked up at him and made a sad whimper, almost a whine. Intelligence in its gaze and a wavering desire to trust. It was shivering. Was the animal going into shock from the wounds?

            Bane held out the bread, grinned at the funny sniffing sounds.

            “Be careful,” his mother pleaded.

            The creature stretched its neck as far as possible and tried to snatch the morsel, but Bane only allowed the strange bill-like snout to reach the edge. It swallowed the mouthful whole then gazed longingly from the bread in Bane’s hand up to his tempter.

            “I’ll give you the rest if you let me hold you.”

            “No,” his mother said, stepping closer.

            “He’s hurt bad, Mama. I need to take him to Dr. Assad.”

            “You’ll do no such thing. It’ll bite you.”

            “No, he won’t. He’s cold and hungry, and those cuts are deep. He needs our help. Maybe Santa didn’t bring him, but he came to us. Maybe he somehow knew I could help him.”

            Bane sank to a sitting position and held the bread in his lap. He patted his thigh. “Come here. I’ll wrap you up in a blanket and get you warm.”

            His mother hurried to the front of their cell and tried to reach the iron poker, but it was just beyond her reach. Foiled, she went for Osito at the foot of the charpoy. _The knife!_

            “Mama, don’t!”

            Just as Bane’s mother drew the knife from within the toy, the animal made a slight squeak of alarm and pulled itself frantically toward Bane. Thinking only of the creature’s protection, Bane picked it up. It gave a small cry of pain but did not fight him, its eyes turned toward the knife. Obviously, Bane thought, it remembered what had cut its flesh.

            “Put it down, son, before it bites you.”

            From the cell next to theirs came the Vulture’s groggy voice from beneath his blankets: “What the hell is going on over there?”

            Bane ignored the Pakistani, holding the creature close to his chest. “You’re scaring him, Mama.”

            “And you’re scaring me. Put it down right now.”

            The creature stared at her, the quills on its head standing up as it shoved the bread into its mouth. It squeaked once as it snuggled tight against Bane, its tiny fingers gripping his clothes. Bane marveled at the softness of its fur. The only animal he had ever held were dead rats. This fur was similar in look but different in texture.

            “I’m not putting him down. I have to take him to Dr. Assad.”

            The Vulture raised his balding head from his thin pillow and peered through the murky morning. “What do you have there, boy? A big fat rat?”

            Bane edged toward the back of the cell where their meager belongings were kept. There he retrieved the key to their door. He snatched one of their blankets from the charpoy as his mother advanced with the knife, then as he wrapped it around the animal, he circled the brazier, away from his mother, and rushed to the door. He struggled with the lock, unable to maneuver the key well with the animal tucked in the crook of one arm.

            “Put it down, son,” his mother demanded. She did not, however, reach for the creature, afraid startling it would cause it to attack her child.

            Bane opened the door and slipped outside, locking it behind him. Then he handed the key through the bars to his mother.

            “Don’t worry, Mama. It’ll be all right.” Ignoring her continued pleas, he hurried away, catching the unreadable eye of Abrams from his charpoy next door.

            Dr. Assad lived on the other side of the shaft, also with a cell that faced outward. The middle-aged doctor would be expecting him soon, for Bane often accompanied him on morning rounds and assisted him with his medical duties. He had learned much from Assad and treasured their friendship here in a place where friendship was a rarity. Bane had read every book in Assad’s library multiple times. As he rushed along, Bane tried to mentally review all the books about animals. Now that he had seen the creature up close there was something vaguely familiar about it.

            The animal remained passive in his arms, apparently content to be warm again. Bane kept it concealed in the blanket, afraid one of the prison’s early risers might see it and try to snatch it for their breakfast. He thought of his mother’s desire to do the same, and though he knew he should, for her sake at least, butcher the little animal, he found that all he wanted to do was help it.

            “Dr. Assad, please let me in.”

            The Arab turned from his brazier where he was spooning a fried egg onto a plate. He smiled. “Good morning, young man.” His pale brown eyes took in the bundle. “What do you have there?” He set aside his plate and shuffled over to unlock his door.

            Bane slipped inside. “We need your help.”

            “We? Is something wrong with your mother?”

            “No, sir. I found something. Well, he found me.”

            Just then the creature gave a squeak and popped its head from among the blanket’s folds.

            Assad stared, falling back a step. “What on earth is that?”

            “I thought it was a puppy, but—”

            “A puppy?”

            “Yes, from Santa Claus, but Mama said it’s not a puppy.”

            “Indeed it isn’t.” Assad peered closer.

            “He’s been hurt. He needs stitches.” Bane sat on Assad’s bed and pulled back the blanket. “Let the doctor see,” he murmured.

            The creature’s claws clung to him and the blanket as it watched Assad with suspicion and fear.

            “Why, that’s a Niffler!” Assad said, crouching in front of Bane, his concerns driven away by his curiosity and amazement.

            “A Niffler?”

            “Yes. Don’t you remember reading about it in Newt Scamander’s book?”

            “ _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ ,” Bane murmured in surprise. He loved that book. Realization dawned. That was where he had seen a picture of this animal!

            “Where did he come from?”

            “I found him under my bed this morning.”

            “Well, this explains those wild tales the men have been telling about an enormous dark blue rat that keeps stealing from them.”

            “Someone cut him. See? Twice. He can’t walk; he was dragging himself.”

            Assad studied Bane with a frown. “You want me to stitch up a Niffler? Don’t you think that is a waste of medical supplies, not to mention a waste of meat?”

            The Niffler shrank back against Bane.

            “I can’t eat him; he came to me for help.”

            “He didn’t come to you, boy; he just happened to be near your cell when he lost his strength. He was probably trying to get to the stepwell to drink.”

            “Drink! Of course! I have to get him some water. With these injuries, he can’t make it down all those stairs to the water. He must be thirsty.”

            Bane started to stand, but Assad held out a staying hand. “Take him down to the stepwell and drown him. You’ll both be better off.”

            The Niffler made a frightened noise and tried to burrow into the blanket, but his wounds prevented such movement.

            “Don’t say that,” Bane scolded. “He understands. Now he’s scared again.” He scowled. “If you won’t stitch him up, I will.”

            “You’re being ridiculous, boy. You stitch him up today, and someone else will catch him and eat him another day.”

            Bane glowered at him. “I’ll protect him.”

            Assad sighed and considered Bane, then his attention went to the listening Niffler. “Nifflers are native to England. I wonder how he came to be here. Trafficked into the country by some dealer, no doubt. Must have escaped. But that doesn’t explain how he ended up in the pit.”

            “One of the supply drops. He must have been hidden in a bag or a box.”

            The Niffler looked up at Bane as if confirming this. Gently Bane stroked the Niffler’s back, and the animal made a purring sound and snuggled close.

            “Look at him, Doctor. He likes me. I know you think it’s a coincidence that he was in my cell, but I think he came there on purpose. He knew I could help him; maybe he saw me on your rounds before.”

            Assad got to his feet, shaking his head and muttering something to himself in Arabic.

            “Doctor, if you give me the supplies to stitch him up, I’ll do your washing for a month. And I’ll give you some of our charcoal.”

            “No, you will not deprive your mother of fuel. What are you thinking, boy?”

            Bane frowned, ashamed.

            Assad moved to his medical bag beside his brazier. He looked over his shoulder at Bane stroking the Niffler. “Well, apparently I am as foolish as you, and I will probably regret this, but if you do my laundry for _two_ months, I will stitch up your little friend there.”

            Bane’s face lit up. “Thank you, Doctor. I will. I promise.”

***

            When Bane returned to his cell with the Niffler, he brought with him Newt Scamander’s book to show his mother. After refreshing himself with what the book revealed about the precocious Niffler, Bane had what he felt was a foolproof plan for convincing his mother not to eat the little creature.

            His mother met him at the door with the key. Now that other prisoners were moving about, coming to the shaft’s _bawdi_ —the stepwell—to wash and drink and look up at the unobtainable sky, Bane slipped quickly inside and locked the door behind him.

            “You brought it back!” she cried.

            “Dr. Assad stitched him up. But it’ll take him a while to heal.”

            “Son—”

            “You were right, Mama. He’s not a puppy—he’s a Niffler.”

            “A what?”

            “A Niffler. I’ll show you. Take the book out from under my arm. It’s all in there.”

            The Niffler’s head appeared from the blanket as it sniffed the air. When it saw Bane’s mother, it made a disappointed sound and ducked its head back out of sight. Bane chuckled.

            “It’s all right, Niffler. She won’t hurt you. She’s my mother. She’s going to let you stay here with us. You’ll be safe.”

            “He’s not staying with us, son. He’s a wild animal.”

            “Just until he gets better, Mama. Please. I can’t send him away now. Look at his stitches. He won’t be able to walk for a few days, and he for sure won’t be able to run any time soon. It would be cruel if we didn’t take care of him. Dr. Assad wouldn’t be happy that he used medical supplies on him for nothing.”

            His mother put a hand on her hip. “And what’s in it for the doctor?”

            Bane blushed. “I promised to do his laundry for two months.”

            Though she tried not to, his mother smiled. “The boy who hates doing even his own laundry?”

            Bane sat on the charpoy and set the Niffler gently down next to him, arranging the blanket into a nest. “Nifflers are burrowing creatures. No place to burrow in the prison; it’s all stone. So I’ll cover him in our blankets. That’ll make him feel safe.”

            Bane’s mother flipped through the pages of Scamander’s book.

            “The Niffler’s on page twenty-two, Mama.”

            She located the page and read aloud: “‘The Niffler is a British beast. Fluffy, black and long-snouted, this burrowing creature has a predilection for anything glittery.’” Bane’s mother snorted. “Well, he won’t find anything like that down here.” She put her finger on the text and continued to read: ‘Nifflers are often kept by goblins…’ Goblins! Why, there’s no such thing.”

            “Mr. Scamander says there is. And since he said there are Nifflers, and there are,” he patted the warm lump among the blankets, “then he must know what he’s talking about.”

            His mother shook her head but was pleased enough by her son’s happiness to drop her skepticism in front of him. She continued reading, “‘Nifflers are often kept by goblins to burrow deep into the earth for treasure. Though the Niffler is gentle and even affectionate—’”

            “See, Mama. He won’t hurt us.”

            She raised an eyebrow. “‘…it can be destructive to belongings and should never be kept in a house.’ Destructive!”

            “It’s all right. We don’t live in a house, and we have nothing for him to destroy.”

            “‘Nifflers live in lairs up to twenty feet below the surface and produce six to eight young in a litter.’ Well, I hope your little friend there isn’t going to have babies.”

            Bane laughed. “He’s a boy.”

            She set aside the book and crossed her arms, looking at her son.

            “He’s going to help us, Mama.”

            “And how will he do that, my silly little boy.” Unable to resist his exuberance, especially when few things in the pit could produce such an emotion, she settled next to him on the charpoy and put her arm around him.

            “Don’t you see? Nifflers look for treasure; they like glittery things.” He smiled at her. “Things like your missing ring.”

            Her eyes widened then went to the mounded blanket. As if on cue, the Niffler’s head appeared, its nostrils twitching.

            “If we take care of him, he’ll find your ring for you.”

            “Oh, son…” Her eyes grew moist. “You don’t have to say that.”

            “But it’s true. I know he will…if we take care of him. He can have some of my food; I don’t need it all, and he’s only little.”

            She pulled him close and kissed the top of his shorn head. “You’re my sweet boy.”

            The Niffler made a curious sound in its throat and edged its way out of its nest, moving stiffly because of the stitches; Dr. Assad had refused to administer any pain medication. Its round dark eyes looked up at Bane, who smiled and stroked the flattened quills. Then the Niffler crawled into his lap and made a purring noise as Bane continued to pet him.

            “He’s so soft, Mama. Pet him.”

            She hesitated before lifting her hand. The Niffler watched her, its gaze softening, the tiny nostrils quivering. When she faltered further, the Niffler lay its head on her thigh.

            “He likes you,” Bane softly said.

            The Niffler blinked, looking tired now from its morning ordeal. Slowly Bane’s mother glided her index finger along the top of its head. It purred again and closed its eyes, relaxing even more. Bane’s mother could not help but smile.

            “See,” Bane whispered. “He feels safe with us. Please let me keep him, Mama. He’ll find your ring. You’ll see.”

            “Oh, baby.” She kissed his cheek. “How can I say no to you?”

            Bane grinned.

            “For now, you may keep him, just until he’s healed.”

            Though he wanted to argue for more time, Bane decided he had gained enough for today. There would be plenty of time to convince his mother to let him keep the Niffler. And if they did find the ring, then he was certain his mother would soften even more.

***

            Life in the pit prison was a blur of endless days and nights, filled with boredom and struggle, but now that Bane had the Niffler, he found life to be more tolerable. The little animal slowly healed under Bane’s attentive care, with no sign of infection or loose stitches. For the first couple of weeks, while it was still impaired by its injuries, the Niffler spent its days snuggling on Bane’s or his mother’s lap or burrowed among the blankets. At night, it slept curled up next to Bane or between him and his mother.

            The Niffler had won over Bane’s mother within the first two weeks. Bane wondered sometimes if the Niffler was smart enough to be manipulative, and he suspected so as he watched the creature nuzzle her hand to solicit pets or belly tickles which made the Niffler emit a noise that sounded like a strange giggle, one that made her and Bane laugh. Whenever she seemed sad, the Niffler would sit next to her and stare at her until she could not help but pay attention to it and take her mind off her troubles.

            The other prisoners taunted Bane about making a pet out of something he could eat. Many wanted to kill the Niffler for more reasons than food—they recognized the unique creature as the “blue rat” that had stolen food and other items from their cells. The Niffler seemed to understand their indignation and threats because it never ventured near the bars when any of the inmates were near.

            Once the Niffler became more mobile after the sutures were removed, Bane became alarmed when he awoke one night to find his pet missing. His mother forbade him from leaving the cell to search for it.

            “You’ll never find him in the dark,” she said. “You may have adapted sight, but he’s a burrowing animal so you’ll never see as well as he can, and if he doesn’t want to be found, you won’t find him. Don’t worry. He’ll be back in the morning; he knows who feeds him.”

            Bane could hear concern in her voice, though, and it made him smile to know she had grown fond of the Niffler, even if she would not admit it.

            The Niffler did indeed come back after all its nightly forays. Sometimes it returned empty-handed; other times it brought back something it had stolen—either food or something shiny though worthless like eating utensils or scraps of tin, stuffed into its expandable belly pouch. The Niffler completely won over Bane’s mother when it offered some of the pilfered food to them. The other items Bane kept in a basket at the back of their cell where inmates could not see them but where the Niffler could brood over them like a hen with chicks. The little creature seemed very proud when it would add something to its collection, showing it to Bane before carrying it to the basket and patting it into place among its other treasures. But unfortunately his mother’s ring was not among the collection. Its elusiveness puzzled Bane when he considered how attractive such a thing would be to a Niffler.

            “Don’t worry, Mama. He’ll find it,” Bane assured one day when he saw his mother looking through the Niffler’s basket.

            Bane tried to convince the Vulture to tell him what inmate he had traded the ring to, but no amount of badgering, threats or offers to do favors got him anywhere on the matter. As the days passed, Bane grew more and more worried that the ring would vanish when the next supply drop came. The soldiers who delivered the supplies always came with things to sell to the prisoners to make some money on the side for themselves. The ring was a valuable item indeed, and whoever held it now would be able to purchase coveted items like meat, soap, extra charcoal, or even a knife. Bane lay awake every night worrying that he would fail his mother, and each morning he scoured the Niffler’s basket to see what the creature had found overnight.

            As each morning drifted by, his disappointment and desperation grew.

***

            Shouts and curses echoed from the stepwell one afternoon, drawing Bane’s attention from the book he was reading. Fights were a daily occurrence in the prison. Often he ignored them, but today things escalated into one man’s outcry of pain and subsequent calls for Dr. Assad, so Bane hurried from his cell to investigate, trailed as usual by his mother’s plea for caution. The Niffler followed him only to the door then sat on its rump, its hind feet thrust forward like a person, content to wait in safety for Bane’s return.

            Two dozen inmates were in the stepwell, some sitting, some standing on the various flights of stone steps that led back and forth, ever downward to the stagnant pool at the stepwell’s base. A small group had gathered around a man near the side of the pool, who sat holding his hand over a bloody wound in his side.

            “He stabbed me!” the injured prisoner said. “That bastard Bishara!”

            Dr. Assad was rushing down the steps across the shaft from Bane, carrying his medical bag. Bane met him near the pool, and the bystanders retreated.

            “Hold still,” Assad said calmly. “Let me take a look.”

            “Why did he stab you?” Bane asked as Assad used scissors to cut away the blood-slimed rag of a shirt.

            “I wouldn’t give him my cigarette.”

            Assad tossed the inmate a dark look. “You should know better than to smoke outside your cell. You’re asking for trouble.”

            The wound proved to be only a deep slice, nothing that penetrated to a vital organ. Bane cleaned the site with alcohol as Assad administered a tetanus shot and readied his suturing needle. The other prisoners quickly grew bored with the scene and drifted away.

            Once Dr. Assad was finished, he and Bane helped the inmate back to his cell. The corridor—like all the others in the prison—trailed away from the shaft, losing all hope of natural light. Any illumination in the dank passage was provided by a few guttering candles in ancient wall fixtures or by individual braziers in the long rows of cells. Sickly coughs or the murmur of voices from stray conversations broke the cold silence, some men pausing to watch the wounded inmate pass.

            After easing the prisoner down onto his charpoy, Assad turned to leave, but the inmate caught Bane’s arm and drew him back, close to his sweaty face. He spoke in a hoarse, rancid whisper.

            “I hear you’re looking for your mother’s ring.”

            Bane’s eyes widened. “Do you know where it is?”

            The man glanced at the nearest cells, found them all currently empty. Still he kept his voice low. “That bastard Bishara, the one who did this to me, he has the ring. I’ve seen it. He keeps it in a box under his bed during the day, but at night he puts it on his pinky finger in case that blue rat shows up. He’s lost stuff to it before.”

            With heart beating wildly, filled with sudden hope, Bane thanked him then hurried after Dr. Assad.

***

            Bane said nothing to his mother about Bishara because he did not want her to discourage him from trying to get her ring back. That night, he kept the Niffler from leaving until his mother was asleep, then once she had drifted off, Bane gathered the animal in his arms and snuck out of the cell.

            Even in the pitch blackness of night in the bowels of the prison, Bane could navigate well. Having been born and raised here, he knew the corridors intimately; he required no light, though tonight there was the occasional lit brazier in cells that he passed on his way to Bishara’s.

            The closer he got to his destination, the more restless the Niffler grew. The animal made small, anxious sounds, clinging to him and trying to bury its face in Bane’s clothes or trying to crawl up on his shoulder as if to escape something.

            “What’s the matter?” Bane whispered, struggling to keep a hold of his pet as he neared Bishara’s cell. “Be quiet.”

            The Niffler stopped its whining but not its struggles. And now it was trembling, though Bane knew this was not from the cold, for the Niffler handled the subterranean temperatures better than humans. Was there danger nearby? Bane halted in the deepest shadows and listened to his surroundings, trying to detect if someone unseen stalked him. But after a moment he was satisfied that he was alone in the corridor, the only sounds that of snoring inmates and distant voices from a card game down the passageway.

            He stopped several feet from Bishara’s cell. The prisoner lay asleep on his charpoy; Bane could see him in the faint glow from the cell’s dying brazier. And more importantly he could see his mother’s ring on the man’s finger.

            The Niffler’s nails were now digging into Bane, and he had to keep from verbally scolding his pet. The animal began to make sniffing sounds, though, momentarily distracted from whatever was scaring it. Bane’s pulse quickened. The Niffler must be sensing the ring! He expected the animal to willingly leave him and enter the cell to try to retrieve the piece of jewelry, but the Niffler continued to grip him. After much prying, Bane managed to set the Niffler down as near to the door as he dared, hoping the ring’s close proximity would tempt the animal beyond its fear. The Niffler crouched close to the floor, hesitated, sniffing, appearing torn by indecision. Then it gave a small squeak and bolted back down the corridor.

            Bane lost the Niffler to his ebony surroundings but expected to find the animal back in his bed. However, when he arrived at his cell, he found only his mother, thankfully still asleep. Frowning with concern, Bane decided to return to his bed. There was no way he could find the Niffler tonight, and hopefully come morning the creature would return for breakfast. Bane was glad he had not mentioned his quest to his mother because at least now he would not have to share his disappointing news with her.

***

            When Bane awoke the next morning, he found the Niffler snuggled between he and his mother, softly snoring. Bane frowned, feeling an overwhelming disappointment, almost despair over their failure the night before. Why had the Niffler run when so close to something as shiny as that ring on Bishara’s finger?

            After breakfast, Bane did not feel like playing with the Niffler as he usually did. The little animal looked at him with a tilt of its head, its quills rising in question. Bane swore the Niffler had an ashamed appearance as well, the way it often dropped its gaze. With a sigh, Bane left their cell to go on rounds with Dr. Assad. The Niffler trailed over to the door and made a sad noise, causing Bane to turn back. The creature sat, dejected, on its rump, its fingers gripping the cell bars, looking apologetically after Bane. Bane’s frown deepened as he turned away.

            During medical rounds, they checked on the prisoner who had been stabbed the day before. While Bane was cleaning the knife wound, he remembered doing the same for the Niffler when he had been nursing the creature back to health. And then the realization hit him.

            “It was Bishara!” Bane blurted. “He’s the one who cut my Niffler.”

            “Hey,” the prisoner grumbled, “watch what you’re doing, kid.”

            Bane refocused on his work.

            “Yeah,” the man said. “You’re right about that. I heard him bragging how he almost killed the thing.”

            Anger surged in Bane. He wanted that ring more than ever now.

            When Bane returned to his cell, the Niffler was still sitting near the door.

            His mother smiled. “He hasn’t moved from that spot since you left.”

            The Niffler’s eyes brightened when it saw Bane, and it sat on its haunches expectantly, as if hoping to be picked up. Bane obliged and carried the Niffler over to the bed where he sat, the animal butting him with its head until Bane petted him.

            “I found out who cut my Niffler when he first came to us, Mama.”

            “How did you find that out?”

            “Another prisoner told me. He heard Bishara bragging about it.”

            The Niffler gave a little squeak and stared at him.

            Bane’s mother scowled. “Bishara is a horrible man. Seems like he’s always involved when there’s a brawl or worse.”

            “Now I know why Niffler is afraid of Bishara.”

            “Don’t go near that man, son. I can see you’re angry about what he did, but promise me you won’t confront him. He’s a murderer.”

            The Niffler was staring at Bane, who swore the creature looked relieved that Bane understood its fear now. For his part, Bane felt bad about judging the Niffler. He hugged the animal close and whispered, “I’m sorry.” The Niffler nuzzled Bane’s cheek and made its odd little purring sound.

            As Bane stroked his pet, he realized he would have to somehow get his mother’s ring back without the Niffler’s help.

***

            That night the Niffler slipped away, as it did most nights, on the prowl for food and treasure. Bane remained in his cell until shortly before morning, then he too left his warm bed before his mother awoke. This time he carried Osito’s knife with him, tucked beneath his tunic in a crude leather sheath.

            Bane headed for the corridor leading to Bishara’s cell. Not far from the shaft, he crouched near a wall where there was no brazier or candle to betray his presence. There he would wait until Bishara left his cell for his morning wash in the stepwell. Bane’s fingers twitched against his knife. He had never killed a man before, and he knew the punishment for such a deed could be one of several highly unpleasant options, including being thrown into the solitary confinement hole where he would remain many days in nightmarish conditions with little food or water, in complete darkness, cold, and alone with not even enough room to stand. But if that was the price for getting his mother’s ring back, he would gladly pay it.

            He had only been at his post a short while when he detected a familiar sniffing sound. Then he felt the Niffler nuzzling his hand.

            “What are you doing here?” Bane whispered. “It’ll be morning soon; you should go back to our cell before someone sees you.”

            The Niffler grunted once and tugged at Bane’s sleeve. Bane put him in his lap, but the Niffler crawled out and again plucked at Bane’s clothing before starting down the corridor. Then the animal stopped and made a soft chirring noise, like an invitation. When Bane remained in his spot, the Niffler came back and nipped at Bane’s ragged shoes.

            “Stop that. Go back home.”

            The Niffler bit him harder, then scurried down the corridor in the direction of Bishara’s cell.

            “You’re going the wrong way,” Bane called, trying to keep his voice down lest he awaken one of the nearby prisoners. The Niffler made its chirring noise again and kept going. Afraid for the animal’s safety, Bane ran after him.

            The Niffler did not stop until it reached Bishara’s cell. There it paused for Bane to catch up, then it slipped easily between the bars. Shocked, Bane stopped in the darkness, holding his breath, staring after his pet. There was just enough fuel left in Bishara’s brazier to glow against his sleeping form on his charpoy. He was lying on his belly, his left hand draped over the edge, the ring again on his pinky finger.

            The Niffler had scurried under the charpoy and now crept ever so carefully on its belly toward the dangling hand. Bane marveled at the Niffler’s new-found bravery but found himself wishing his pet had not entered the cell. He forced himself to breathe as the Niffler paused just near Bishara’s hand. For a moment Bane thought the animal’s fear was winning out and that the creature would retreat. But then, in a flash, the Niffler seized the ring and pulled with both of its front paws.

            Bishara instantly awoke with an outcry, jerking his hand up, the Niffler still clinging to the ring. Cursing loud enough to wake most everyone in the surrounding cells, Bishara grabbed the Niffler with his free hand and tried to yank the animal away. The Niffler screamed, and Bane came out of the shadows, shouting, “Let him go!”

            Just then, Bishara managed to fling the Niffler across the cell, but the ring came off his finger with the creature. The Niffler had the piece of jewelry tucked in its pouch the instant it hit the floor and slid across the stones. Bishara, still cursing, dove for the Niffler. The creature screamed again and scrambled for the door. Just as it reached the bars, Bishara snagged one of its back legs. The Niffler clung to the bars, trying to pull itself through, crying. Bishara reached for it with his other hand, but Bane sprang forward and kicked Bishara squarely in the face between the bars. Taken by surprise, the man tumbled back, freeing the Niffler. With a squeak, the animal bolted away down the corridor, Bane racing behind to escape before Bishara could unlock his cell door and chase them.

            Bane caught up to the Niffler and scooped his pet into his arms, never breaking stride. The Niffler trembled and clung to him. A moment later Bane reached his cell where he fumbled with his key. He could hear Bishara’s enraged shouts as the man pursued them. The Niffler leapt between the bars to safety.

            “Son,” his mother said, standing from their charpoy. “What’s going on? You’re white as a ghost.”

            Moving quicker now that he was unburdened, Bane got the door open and jumped inside, locking it just as Bishara came charging down the cell row.

            “You little bastard,” Bishara spat, gripping the bars. “Give it back to me.”

            “I don’t have it.”

            “Your blue rat does. I can see him back there hiding in the corner. Give it to me or I’ll slit your throat the next time you’re out of this cell.”

            “You do and you’ll be put in the solitary hole.”

            “What’s this about?” Bane’s mother cried. “Son, what have you done?”

            “His rat stole something that belongs to me,” Bishara growled.

            “I told you, we don’t have it,” Bane said. “Niffler must have dropped it on the way back. You scared him to death.”

            “You’re lying.”

            “No, I’m not, and if you hope to find it before someone else does, you’d better start looking.”

            Bishara wavered. “You’d better hope I find it, boy.” With that he hurried back in the direction of his cell.

            “Son, what happened?”

            Bane went back to where the Niffler huddled in the corner, still trembling. “It’s all right,” he softly said. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you. Come on, let’s get you wrapped up in the blankets so you stop shaking.” Bane scooped up his pet and carried him over to the charpoy.

            “Are you hurt?” his mother asked.

            “No, I’m fine.” He sat with the Niffler on his lap and examined the hind leg that Bishara had grabbed. The Niffler whimpered, but Bane was confident the leg had not been broken. “You’re all right, Niff. Just a strain, I think. I’ll take you to Dr. Assad after Bishara has cooled down a bit.”

            His mother sat close to him, putting her arm around him. “What happened? Why were you trying to take something from Bishara? You know how dangerous he is. I told you to stay away from him.”

            Bane turned to her with a smile.

            “What are you up to, son? I know that look. It means trouble.”

            Bane glanced over his shoulder into the Vulture’s cell, but the Pakistani was not there. Abrams was gone from his cell as well. “Show her,” Bane quietly said to the Niffler, petting the animal whose trembling had nearly stopped. “Show her how brave you were.”

            Tentative, also checking their surroundings as Bane had, the Niffler dipped its paws into its pouch and drew forth the ring. Bane’s mother gasped, covering her mouth with both hands to stifle a cry of joy. Tears filled her eyes.

            “We can’t let Bishara ever see it, though,” Bane said. “It’s best for all of us if he thinks it’s lost or has been picked up by someone else.”

            The Niffler sniffed with worry as Bane’s mother took the ring from it. “Thank you both so much,” she whispered. “But you shouldn’t have put yourselves in danger.”

            “I couldn’t let you lose it, Mama. It’s all you have of Papa.”

            The Niffler continued to stare longingly at the ring, its fingers flexing. Bane’s mother noticed and chuckled. “Don’t worry,” she said then kissed the ring before returning it to the Niffler.

            “Keep it in your basket with your other treasures,” Bane told his pet. “No one will ever see it there but us.”

            The Niffler scurried over to the basket and reverently placed the ring among the scraps of worthless items. It sat on its haunches, admiring its prize with avarice, patting it once then covering it with other items before scampering back to Bane’s lap. Bane wrapped him in a blanket, only its head showing.

            “The Niffler was very brave, Mama. We tried to get the ring the other night, but he was so scared that he ran away. I was going to try to get it by myself just now, but he came and insisted on doing it. I think he felt bad about running away.”

            “He did seem sad yesterday and was watching you closely.” She stroked the Niffler’s head, and the little animal squinted with pleasure. “Thank you for getting my ring back.”

            Bane put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. “I know our gift is late but,” he smiled, “happy Christmas, Mama.”


End file.
